


Merciful Souls

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Deadly Class (Comics), Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: and guess who patches up our favorite Chaotic Bloody Mess!!, angsty fluffy mess, blood mention, fun times, guess who got into a fight again!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: soft marcus after a fight!!





	Merciful Souls

**Author's Note:**

> here i go again. hope you like this one too!

Every time you saw him, he was covered in bruises.

Deep purple, golden yellow and midnight blue spread across his jaw, his cheekbone, his ribs. Skin turned scarlet and ruby red around knuckles and melted in with crimson from split skin. Blood still clung to his lips, temples and eyebrows, making that alabaster scar you love stand out just a _little_ bit more than normal.

_This time_ , _though_.

This time there was a slight limp and a gnarly black eye that blossomed amongst his usual injuries when he sought you out. He could feel the throbbing, the ache of his skin no doubt darkening to shades of colors that skin absolutely should not be.

It was late enough on a Friday for most students to be shut in their dorms for the night, yet it was early enough that the night owls were nowhere to be found. You were the latter, spread out on your bed with your head dangling over the edge and nightstand lamp on low. The record player on your desk was softly playing Blondie and effectively lulling you to sleep.

Three heavy knocks on your door took you off guard. You were immediately upright - grace never failing you when you need it most - and snatched the weapon stashed under your pillow.

"It's me," you heard through the door. Tension left your body at the sound of his voice and you shoved the weapon back under your pillow.

If the immediate adrenaline rush didn't wake you up a moment ago, seeing your favorite sharp-tongued rat marred to the bone did the trick just fine.

Sure enough he was there: arm braced his weight against your door-frame, favoring one leg over the other. He was wearing the colors of a brilliant sunset, as if he'd been roped into playing an artist's canvas tonight. It would have been agonizingly beautiful to behold, if he was actually covered in _paint_ instead of _pain_.

You knew better.

You knew what happened. It's the same shit, but a different day.

Nothing was said as you stepped aside, inviting him into your room. He barely glanced at you while he limped to your bed, gracelessly falling onto it with a wince.

At least he wasn't dripping blood everywhere this time.

"Where's your roommate?" he asked, voice raw and scratchy. From what sort of use, you didn't want to imagine.

Your heart constricted _once_ , _twice_ , _three_ times.

"Graveyard with everyone else, I think." you answered, voice even. You reached under your bed and found the first aid kit you began keeping once Marcus became a constant part of your life.

"Not feeling social, I take it?" he asked with a half-smile that made your knees weak. You ignored his flinch when he smiled. He clenched his fists when you dabbed damp gauze on his torn skin, trying to keep still for you while you cleaned everything out.

You shook your head. "Just wanted a night to myself for once. Is there anywhere else you're bleeding that I can't see?"

The corners of his mouth twitched up, and he immediately regrets it. He shoved the stinging in his lips down, down, down. "Not sure, but . . . want to help me check?"

"Maybe next time if you can avoid injured ribs," you chide back, replacing the bloody gauze with antiseptic, "then we'll talk about who gets to remove who's clothes. Do you want a band aid?"

Despite being in pain, Marcus smiled at you again, this time with such softness your heart began to melt instantly. He lifted a battered hand to your face, gently running his fingers over your cheekbone, down your jaw and catching your hand in his. He pulled it away from the supplies and held it in his lap, eyes never leaving yours.

You feel snared like a fly in a spider's web.

"Yeah, band aids will make all of this _exponentially_ better," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and laughed soundlessly while you pulled your hand from the warmth of his. The first aid kit gets shoved back under the bed and the bloody tissues in the trash.

"Gonna stay until my roommate comes back?"

You stood in front of him, looking down as he looked up. He wanted to say something so painfully _Marcus_ , you could tell, but you could see in his eyes how _tired_ he was. He just nodded and said _yeah_ instead. You tell him he has to take off the bloodstained t-shirt first, because you are _not_ getting his blood on your sheets _again_.

He laughed while you smiled, helping him separate the bloody rag from the henley underneath, letting it fall through your fingertips to the floor.

You're behind him then, propped against the creaking headboard. He didn't need to be told twice when you took his shoulders in your hands and gently tugged him back into your chest. Marcus nestled himself in your arms, both of you careful of the fresh injuries you just patched up, good as new.

He drifted off to sleep eventually, your fingers softly combed through the dark knots and tangles of his curls. His body gave in to the comfort you brought, the sheer bliss of the his hair being touched. When you looked down at his face, eyes closed, breathing even and quiet . . . your own breath hitched. Your lungs constricted, throat closed and chest swelled with such a violent burst of _contentment_. You almost stopped breathing.

You swore this mess of a boy is like the kiss of dawn after being underground for years and years and years. He's everything to you and nothing to many others. He's your light in the darkness and comfort in the shadows. He's your home away from home, and anchor to reality on the days you felt yourself slipping ever so slowly away.

You watched the moon rise and fall out of your window, the stars and planets growing brighter and higher before disappearing and fading back into the sky when the grey rays of Saturday morning began to awaken.

The record eventually faded into silence, blended into the light-less night sky and ghosted your dreams with all the possibilities of your future. The hope it held, and the lack of promises you'll be able to keep. The adventures you're sure to have, the hardships you knew you'll have to face.

Nights like those fill you with the light of catching those dreams. The love of your life safe with you, alone. Everything else in your life was temporarily quiet, uneventful. Calm, even. It was rare, and you drink it up like you've been deprived of water your entire life.

This place ate people alive - literally, sometimes - but having those moments, bloody boyfriend and all . . . you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.


End file.
